Forgotten in Darkness (27 page)

“Magik? Oh, please. Tell me you don’t buy that bullshit.”

He met her gaze without blinking. “Yes, magik. Voodoo stuff.”

“I think you watched one too many sci-fi movies. All right, whatever. But they need to hang back and let us take the lead on this.”

Kane subtly nodded to Ashor, signaling their time here was over. Kane would contact them later to organize the raid of the Hashishins’ compound. Ashor led their silent exit without so much as a comment.

When they entered the parking lot en route to the SUV, Kane yelled, “Wait up.”

Ashor halted. The others pulled open their doors. Dakar eavesdropped, curious.

“You’ve got problems. I picked up a thread going into Homeland Security last night that named you guys as a primary interest for plotting terrorist activity. Or at least the informer suggests you’re planning something. Bogus, no doubt. But someone is planting crap about you guys.”

“Did they inform where we reside right now?”

“Yes. You should get Scott to do what he can discreetly to smooth it over…you know, hack into their system or spread goody-goody bullshit about you guys online. He’ll know what to do. Maybe even relocate again.”

Ashor’s brow furrowed. “We will check into it.”

“With Markus being in there, well…I’d like to get him back in one piece,” Kane said.

“It’s on our agenda,” Ashor said.

Kane nodded. “Thanks.” He pivoted and left.

As Javen put the SUV in gear, Ashor put his cell to his ear. “Scott, Kane just told me Homeland Security had an informant claiming we’re doing terrorist shit. See what you can find out. But do not get caught. You got that? In the meantime, have Rick start packing. Between the snakes and Hashishins up our ass, and now U.S. government, we’re moving to Mexico.” There was a pause. “Yeah, good call on buying that estate in Campeche.” Another pause. “I know it’ll be hot as hell this time of the year. I want us packed and there within the next few days. I also want to know how the hell they found us so fast. Do a check on all our equipment for tracking devices.” There was a long pause and then Ashor cursed. “You fix it?” Ashor hung up and cursed again.

“What’s up?” Khyan asked.

“Hashishins somehow put some spyware on Scott’s computer. Must be how they found us.”

“We better make sure he didn’t get bespelled in the process,” Khyan suggested.

“And you can do that?” Ashor asked, hopeful.

“Not very well. We need Cy…the spell keeper.”

“All right, we’re working on that.”

“Another relocation,” Javen stated.

“You never liked New Orleans to begin with,” Ashor said.

“But Mexico is drug-lord infested,” Javen replied.

“Like you’re not looking forward to any fights that might come your way,” Khyan chimed in.

Javen smiled while his eyes remained glued to the road. “I could do Mexico.”

****

Shay shifted from one foot to the other in front of the Folk Art Center on the Blue Ridge Parkway just outside Asheville. She peeled her shirt from her back and fanned it for a few seconds.

Dakar hissed air through his teeth as he peered at her from his concealed location in the dense foliage. Ancient trees swayed in a breeze that did little more than move hot, stale air. The humidity was thick. If he squinted, he imagined he actually saw water suspended in the air.

A group of rowdy teenagers looked to be making the worst of a family outing as they shot spray string at each other in a charade fight, running toward their car.

Shay touched the bandage over her left forehead and then hugged herself.

This plan sucked. But damn it…what choice did he have? “I cannot do this,” Dakar growled. He slammed his back against a gigantic tree.

“Want some?” Javen asked from his position against a neighboring tree trunk, puffing a hand-rolled. He held the joint Dakar’s way. “Might chill you out a bit.”

Dakar shook his head.

Khyan said, “We shouldn’t be here. Should’ve dropped her off and left. You’re gonna go psycho. First hint of someone touching her and you’ll lose it. I guarantee.”

“As if you would let your
senariai
out of your sight once you found her.”

“True that.”

“Detain me.” Dakar’s body trembled with the need to bolt. To her. His skin went cold with sweat.

Both Javen and Khyan body slammed him into the tree trunk, each pinning a shoulder.

Javen grunted out, “Why don’t we…leave?”

Dakar said, “Hell, no. That would require we pass her to get out. Not a good plan.”

“Good point,” Javen muttered. “Looks like her meeting is about to get started.”

A tall suit-clad man with skeletal facial structure approached Shay. Based on her blanched expression, she knew the bum and wasn’t thrilled. They could hear through the trees concealing them.

“Hey, Shay. Stephen Levin came looking for you down here. Knowing that we’re related and all, he phoned me when he got here. He’s really worried about you.” His smile was all about greeting a friend.

“Brant. Why am I not surprised you’re here. Where’s Dr. Levin? He sounded really stressed yesterday. And he didn’t know we’re related. So cut the crap.”

“We offered him a place to stay at the Sanctum. I’ll take you to see him. Ready to go?”

“Why should I trust you? Your boss and I didn’t exactly hit it off.”

Brant’s face went from its congenial mask to nasty. “Get in the car.” He pointed at his navy sedan.

Shay’s eyes darted to where Dakar was hidden. The fear and regret reflected there called to his soul. But then her face glazed into resolve. In his skull he heard her voice.
It’s going to be all right.

Had he heard her clearly in his mind? Or had he imagined it?

“Or what?” Shay countered Brant.

“I’ll make this very unpleasant.”

“Ah, that’s the stepbrother I remember finally showing himself. I’m not feeling the love. So, I vote no on the whole getting-in-the-car with you.”

He didn’t reach for her. Perhaps Djoser had given him a little crash course on
bochnoris
with a clear don’t-touch-her warning. He brandished a small bottle from his suit jacket and sprayed.

She swiped her face to remove the residue. Seconds later she collapsed.

Dakar lurched toward unconscious Shay, dragging Khyan and Javen.

“Told you this idea was whacked,” Khyan whispered as he and Javen pushed Dakar backwards, but they were in a losing battle. Dakar pulled like a bull with its eye on a red flag. Every muscle strained toward his target.

Khyan ordered in ancient Egyptian, “I command thee, Nakhti, restrain him.” Dakar’s
bochnori
manifested over his face. Dakar sat hard on the ground gripping his head.

He groaned, “Khyan, tell it to cease.”

“Not until you get your shit under control. There’s nothing we can do at this point. She made her choice.”

“I cannot allow her to be harmed.”

Javen said, “Have you considered that perhaps allowing her to do this is what that shaman meant by doing the opposite of instinct? That he didn’t mean to kill her?”

Dakar stopped fighting his
bochnori
to glare at Javen. “You are an ass.” He looked to where the sedan pulled away and added softly, “But you might be right.”

Javen smiled smugly. “Have you ever allowed her near Djoser during any lifetime?”

“Never.”

“Well, this should be interesting.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cy back-hugged the corner nearest the door hinge, the last corner to be viewed when one of them entered. The denial part of his mind thought the position allowed him an advantage. The get-real side of his mind laughed.

What he wouldn’t give for a watch. Had it been five hours or ten minutes since he’d been tossed into this closet-like cell? A holding cell for future torture.

His stomach knotted until it burned with each breath. He probably had an ulcer. Waiting was a part of the torture game, not that knowing that little fact helped. He freely admitted he was bone-ass scared about what Djoser planned. Would it be torture, snakes, poison, spells, or something new?

What he wouldn’t give to go back to amnesia-land and be back at school. Soccer practice sounded pretty good, even if he did get the shit kicked out of him by Bradford and his cronies on a regular basis. That life was over.

This one might be too. Soon.

Panic rose again in his chest. He was not going to come undone. All he had in this situation was himself. His mind had to be his weapon. It was the one thing Djoser couldn’t take from him.

The dark room was lit only by light from under the door that shifted eerily. A girl’s voice echoed in his mind, soft and pleading.
Oh God, help me, please. I don’t want to play.

It was her. The girl whose music saved him last time against Djoser. She had to be his
senariai
. He could speak to her telepathically. And her music was power. Each incarnation the gods enabled her to weave magik with music.

Cy thought to her,
What is going on? Why do you need to play?

My instructor…he’ll hurt me, if I don’t practice. Wants me to play Chopin. I can’t. Don’t want to since Da died last week.

Let me play with you. We can do this together.
Something slammed against his back. He cranked his head around. Nothing but the brick wall sat behind him. Something hit her? Anger swelled.
Did someone just strike you?

Yes. Oh lord, it’s going to get worse, if I don’t get on with it. Who are you and why are you in my head? Am I crazy?

I’m real. You’re not crazy.
Pain detonated down his back again.
Do you know Rhapsody on a Theme?

Rachmaninoff? I’ve never played it. Not allowed. It’s not a classic.

Have you heard it?

Yes. It’s a short piece.

Good, then we can play this.

He’ll get mad.

He can’t hurt you, if we play together.

It’s too hard. I need the music.

Close your eyes. I’ll play the orchestra side, and the start of your part. You just join me.

Cy knew this piece by heart and had subconsciously hummed it his entire life. For some reason, the melody comforted him. They had never played this piece together in past lifetimes since it had been written in the twentieth century. And they hadn’t been allowed together for a very, very long time. Her gift of music enabled her to play anything she heard once.

He started the intro chords of the piano.
Come on. I know you can’t resist.

Then she played as if reading the music out of his head.

He loved the melody of this song. It spoke to something deep in his soul. But to hear her play it with so much emotion…amazing. He smiled so wide it hurt.

White-hot power energized his cells as her solo swelled to a climax. He added the orchestral part, accompanying her in his mind.

Her laughter echoed in his head—the sound of unadulterated bliss. For the first time in this lifetime, he knew joy. If he lived through this encounter with Djoser, he would spend the rest of his life searching for her.

He maestroed his orchestra to compete with her swelling chords.

She pounded the keys to complement the intensity of his orchestra, never one to be outdone.
He doesn’t like this. He’s threatening me again.

Feel your power. He can’t touch you when you play.
They pounded to the end of the piece.

Play it again with me. He approaches. Help me. Even if I am going insane and talking to God in my mind. Thank you. But play it again with me.

I am not a god.

His cell door slammed open, bouncing against the wall. The lights flickered on. His retinas screamed for several seconds and then…oh shit, bad news.

Djoser sauntered inside with a too-excited smile.

Please
, she beseeched in his mind again. He couldn’t focus on both of them. So, he blocked her out.

Djoser approached with a half-full syringe of a sludgy yellow liquid, something probably designed to induce blabbing. And he probably would spill his guts.

He jerked when the syringe’s contents burned into his arm, but was proud not to have cowered from Djoser’s approach, nor screamed. Evasion fighting wasn’t worth the calories, and a definite losing venture. Then his mind went woozy as a slow burn traveled down each of his limbs.

You can’t be God. Someone is hurting you again. Listen to the music. I’ll play for you again.
A Mozart piano concerto floated into his mind. The burning dissipated. He floated within the notes.

It’s beautiful…and it’s working.
The woozy cleared.

Together we can fight our demons,
she said
.

How ironically close to the truth.

Djoser hoisted him off the floor and dragged him to the only chair in the room, a folding metal special. “Let us discuss who you are and what you know. Tell me where the summoning chamber is hidden.”

Cy listened to her music. Its magik swelled within him, soothed him, and pushed away the fetid evil cajoling him into spilling his guts. The poison Djoser had injected put his body on super slow-mo, but he detected nothing beyond that. His tongue barely worked. Fortunately, he could evade and maybe even lie. “I don’t know a chamber of any sort. Why was that girl so important to you?”

Djoser squinted at Cy in silence for several seconds. If looks could murder, he would be nothing but a pulpy mess. “It is her. Shaiani. Has to be. And this time she is mine to do with what I want. Dakar is still locked into the Middle Realm and cannot help her.” Barely audibly he said, “I felt her touch.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know that woman. You assume I do and it sounds like she is returned from the past. What do you plan to do with her?”
Come on, monologue some more.

Djoser backhanded him, sending him flying from the chair into the wall. His head ricocheted off the concrete bricks like a racquetball. He rolled to sit propped against the wall, his head buzzing.

Djoser smiled an ass-pucker evil leer. His right hand morphed into a daemon claw, large and obscenely out of proportion. The raptor-like claws clicked together. “I’m done with games. If you are not the one, then so be it.”